


Nightmares Are Dreams Too

by UlisaBarbic



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Aftermath, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Durin Family, Durin Family Feels, Durin Line endures side story, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Fili And Kili need a hug, Gen, Good King Thorin, Good Uncle Thorin, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nightmares, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Protective Thorin, Self-Harm, Thorin is a Softie, Uncle Thorin, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlisaBarbic/pseuds/UlisaBarbic
Summary: A side story to my Durin Line Endures AU. Recovery from battle is never easy. Fili and Kili have endured more than most dwarves twice their age and that is never easy to deal with. Uncle Thorin is more adept at handling it than most people think.Covers some of my BOTFA AU but details should be easy to follow. May be details of battle in later chapters. I’ll update tags if need be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hobbit characters are owned by JRR Tolkien and used without permission for the enjoyment of fans. No infringement intended.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Night was calm.

 

The hammering of workers had stopped and Thorin had to admit that was both a blessing and a curse. The quietness, while welcoming to most, were always uneasy with dwarves. Every dwarf thrived in the knowledge of work. It was their lifeblood and being able to use tools and rock of those who came before them was always a boon to the spirit. When there was work to be done, be it with gem, rock or iron, the hearts of the people of the mountain thrived in it.

 

And Mahal knew that Erebor needed work. A dragon living among her halls had done such hurt to the stone but she had endured. The wounds were repairable and everyone had taken up a hammer as soon as healers deemed them able. There was no greater pride than to see family and friend pounding at stone, chipping away the stank of dragon and replacing it with the hard earned sweat of Mahal’s children.

 

Thorin had been reluctant to let his sister-sons join in repairs though not out of any malice. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any prouder of someone than he did of those two. It was seeing the slight flinch on Fili’s face if he strained his side. It was the sharp exhale through his teeth if Kili put too much weight on that leg. Oin had cleared them as had the elven healers but the paternal role he had played for many years still hollered inside his mind that they should have been resting. Much as Dwarven mothers were given grief for being overprotective, Thorin was well aware that he could be just as bad or, at times, even worse than his sister.

 

He respected his nephews enough to let them be though...but if he inquired of those working about them to their status then that was another matter altogether. If he called them back to sit and take ale, bread and meat and to speak of what was to come, it mattered not that they had spoken of such things several times before.

 

Taking another breath, he urged his heart to slow. This had been what he had been working for ever since the attack and now it was here. The rebuilding had begun!

 

Thorin had been reluctant to accept the room of his grandfather, the chambers of the King, when so many other repairs had to be done but the people, Dáin’s folk included, had insisted. After all, they declared, Thorin had won back the Mountain!

 

Frowning, Thorin wandered the room. This victory would not have been his without his Company. Without Bilbo, without his nephews. He may have led the party but he owed it to Bilbo for recognizing his Gold Sickness for what it was and it was Bilbo’s keen sight that led them into the secret door. It was Bilbo that allowed them to approach Smaug. It was his nephews that struck Thorin from his gold sickness. Made him remember who he was...who THEY were and how Thorin had shattered the Arkenstone that dared make him forget for even a moment.

 

Then it had been his nephews that had killed Smaug.

 

Thorin had ushered Kili away, up to one of the hidden rooms. His leg wound had grown worse and with the dragon loose, he was not going to risk him. The boy had protested immensely but the look Thorin had perfected over decades of parenting had not lost its power. Adding a threat of “I have traveled this journey as your King and your leader but make no mistake, sister-son, I am capable of embracing my role as Uncle and all that it entails if need be” had served to stop his protests. If Thorin had lingered a half moment more to put a kiss to his head then it was hardly questionable.

 

Fìli had tackled the dragon when they had been herded through Erebor (effectively taking a good two decades off Thorin’s life right from the start) and when the dragon took off, raining his fire on Laketown, Fili had still clung to his back.

 

It was the first time throughout the entire journey where Thorin was, as the Company saw it, hysterical.

 

Screaming and shouting, howling at the dragon to “COME FACE —ME— YOU WICKED WORM!!” Pushing Dwalin aside and trying to tear after the creature with no care to his own health. Screaming to Mahal. Howling at the earth for daring to put the Long Lake in his path.

 

And crying up to Fili in the distance, “MAHAL AS MY WITNESS—-GROWN DWARF OR NOT, BOY, I AM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE!!”

 

His threats had gone unanswered until they heard the sound of a fired wind lance. It was Bard, attempting to fell the dragon. While his actions were admirable, commendable, brave...all Thorin could picture was that long bolt skewering his eldest and his stomach dropped with worry. His blood ran cold. When Bard’s shot had missed, he had both mourned and cheered.

 

Then, it had been keen eyed Bilbo who advised movement above them and there, in all his stubbornness, had been his second sister-son, readying a wind lance of his own, despite being barely able to stand.

 

Oh, the things Thorin had screeched at that boy but the younger dwarf had paid him no mind. His eyes were focused, mind clear and after a tense moment, everyone knew why.

 

The dragon was returning and you could just barely make out Fili taunting it, baiting it and occasionally stabbing as well he could into its hide.

 

Pride took Smaug down as he had every intention of “roasting your heir before your eyes Oakenshield! But only after you watch your mountain burn!”

 

Too occupied was he to see the smaller dwarf, half draped in shadow until the bolt of the lance found its mark, driving so deep it all but vanished.

 

Smaug fell.

 

Fili leapt away, the mountain gave have way under his fingers, despite Kili scrambling to reach him and he’d fallen, nearly in unison with the accursed dragon.

 

Thorin, despite himself, had lunged after his sister son and while it had hardly been a soft landing (Fili had tumbled half in Thorin’s arms and half over his shoulder, utterly knocking the wind out of him and sending them both careening to the ground) it had spared Fili permanent injury as Thorin had tucked him into his chest like a babe when the dragon had finally collided with the ground and any broken rock and earth had found Thorin’s flesh, not Fili’s.

 

Standing once the trembling had stopped, Thorin was nearly sure he would have half strangled the boy had he not spied Kili attempting to scale down the mountainside far too quickly with that leg. Attention distracted by trying to keep his youngest sister son from plowing to his death, Fili had all but been crushed by the relieved Company.

 

Lifting Kili down as soon as he was able (and trying and failing to hide his “Ah, Mahal, my back”—catching a sister son of full grown weight and lifting another nearly thereafter he had already carried Kili for quite some ways up to the mountain—-were not kind to Thorin’s post-prime age) Thorin had returned to his eldest and held both his boys close for quite a long while, stroking their hair and murmuring words to them that only family could get away with.

 

Once his nerves had cooled and they had parted ways on their trek to observe the fallen beast, the Dwarf King had planted two very sharp swats, one across each of their backsides, to two whimpering “Irak’Adad!” protests. Older he might have been but a hand hardened by war and the forge still stung hard and he meant to make it clear that while he valued and commended their bravery, he did not forgive them risking their lives so nonchalantly.

 

Shaking his head with a smile as he remembered their wide eyes at the dragon’s limp corpse and the way Kili poked it as if it were a dead kill he was assuring were truly deceased before jumping back to Dwalin and himself, he had to admit that his heart could not have held more pride for them if he had all the room in the depths of Khazad-dûm. Fili had dared take a dragon on their own terrain, the air, and Kili had not let a leg wound stop him and his aim had flown true to the one spot of weakness that only a truly skilled archer would know. He had no doubt the two of them had planned their assault together and while it had shortened his life, he was certain, by several decades to observe it come to fruition, there was a deep justice in it.

 

The wicked worm that had collapsed Erebor in the midst of its prime had been felled by the sons of Her princess.

 

It had not been long before Ori and then Bofur and then all the others had begun shouting “Dragonsbane!” “Dragonscourge!” The names would stick and when the time came for a coronation, Thorin was determined to use those names.

 

They had earned it and may all of Erebor know it!

 

Finally ceasing his pacing, Thorin let himself sink into the bed. He had run here many a time as a child, leaping up beside his grandfather to hear tales of old, often with Frerin right on his tail and years later, Dis had followed.

 

Now, while there was much work to do and the sheets of cotton and wool and blankets of fur had yet to reflect the fortune of Erebor, it was here. For the first time since that fateful day, Thorin Oakenshield felt at peace. Oh there was much to do, alliances to be made and people to care for but they were home!

 

He allowed his mind to rest, to drift and dreams of the grand future yet to come would ease the rest of his worries.

 

Thus, when the war splitting scream rang through the corridors later, Thorin almost tumbled from the bed.

 

It was close, shrill and familiar.

 

“Fili!” He said aloud to himself as he scrambled to his feet, not bothering to clothe anymore than he was. A sight he must have been, the proclaimed King of the Lonely Mountain tearing out of his chambers in naught more than underslacks.

 

He was hardly alone though. The rest of his Company, including Bilbo as well as several of Dain’s soldiers had rushed the hallway, trying to reach the sound of agony.

 

It was Frerin’s old room where Fili and Kili had decided to bunk together until more repairs were done.

 

Fili screamed again and now there was also Kili, screaming for his brother “Wake up, wake up!!”

 

Pushing through his company and rather harshly at that, (he would have to apologize to poor Dori later) Thorin plowed through the door, calling “Fili! Kili!”

 

Kili was up, though still only in his sleep slacks and the poor boy looked terrified. He was limping horrendously (the leg needed time to heal) but he was attempting to approach his brother, pleading with a choked voice “Wake up, Fili, please!!”

 

Fili, not two feet away, had a knife in each hand and at close glance, one of them had nicked poor Kili already. It was a mild injury though.

 

Thorin knew that wild lostness he saw in his nephew’s eyes. He saw it rarely but seeing it so soon after everything they had endured...he’d been foolish to think they would escape without it in some degree.

 

Giving a simple nod to Kili to keep talking, Thorin approached his eldest from the side, taking care to stay out of his range of sight (though he didn’t know if this was a livid dream or a true flashback; in either case, caution was necessary) and his eyes surveyed the boy’s stance.

 

It was rigid, firm but luckily, there was not much forethought into it, very unlike his usual manner. Perhaps they were lucky and it was a vivid dream. While neither flashbacks or vivid dreams were pleasant, the latter was decidingly easier to cope with and recover from.

 

“Fili, please, wake up!” Kili tried again and his brother jerked his body to face him. “You’re dreaming, Brother. We’re safe, wake up!”

 

Fili twitched a bit and his voice came out a bit slurred. “The battle...”

 

“It’s over!” Kili insisted, eyes a bit watery. “We’re safe, brother!”

 

Fili’s grip on his knives lessened.

 

Thorin took his chance. He cane about, quickly and clamped his hands on Fili’s wrists, just enough to make him drop the blade. Even as Filí was jerking, beginning to shout, Thorin was whispering in his deep baritone. “All is well, my sister-son. Look about you, truly focus and look. I am here. Your brother is here. We are safe. You are safe.”

 

Almost with little else he could do, the blond dwarf obeyed. For a moment, his breath came hitched but gradually, those glassy eyes focused. “K-Kili...”

 

The dark haired dwarf nodded “It’s me, Fili. We were bunking in Uncle Frerin’s old room, remember?”

 

Turning slightly, Fili’s eyes met his uncle’s. “T-Thorin, I...forgive me, I...”

 

“Shh.” Thorin loosened his grip and Fili sank to the floor, back against the bed. “All is well, sister-son.”

 

Shaking his head sharply, Fili argued “It wasn’t. You...and Kili...and Dwalin...Ma...” he shuddered and when Kili knelt next to him, his eyes pained. “Mahal, Kili, I’m sorry.” He brushed his hands over the small slice on his brother’s upper arm. “I didn’t...”

 

“It’s okay, Fili.” The younger one said instantly “Doesn’t even hurt.”

 

“But I cut you! I..” he eyed his dropped knives as if they were a snake. “They’re supposed to protect you, not...”

 

“Sister-Son.” Thorin’s tone was soft, unaccusing. “The body forms its own memory and if the mind is not there to counter it, it will act on its own.” He smiled as warm as Fili remember. “You are not to blame.”

 

“But...” He locked eyes with Kili “If I did once, I could hurt you again!” Oh the horrible fear in that tone.

 

“You wouldn’t..”

 

“Kili, I just DID! Don’t tell me I wouldn’t!” Face in his hands, Fili trembled.

 

Kili sat there a long moment then said “I...I could stay in Uncle Thorin’s old room and...”

 

“No.” Thorin interrupted. He heard the hesitation and saw the fear as much as if Kili had announced it. Fili had his dreams but Kili did not want to be alone. “I will not have either of you surrendering security of your own for the other.”

 

Fili’s voice cracked. “Uncle, I could have hurt him!” He knew what Thorin spoke of though. It had taken forever to get Kili to sleep. Alone, he would get none. “If I act out again, I...”

 

“Then I will wake you as your brother did this time.” Thorin assured him, hand to his head “And I will stay to ensure no more outbursts take your mind this eve.”

 

Kili looked up, hope in his eyes as he stood “You’ll stay, Uncle Thorin?”

 

“The bed is surely large enough,” Thorin reasoned. “Unless you prefer I not?”

 

“N-no.” Fili stood slowly, “Please.” He swallowed “I...please stay.” That took more courage to say than any action on the battlefield but when Thorin gently pulled him up and let him lay against his chest a moment, he cherished it. “Please stay, Uncle.”

 

“So, I shall.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Waking was not quite waking.

  


Waking required that some sleep had to have been had and Thorin was not entirely sure that had occurred. At least not an amount of sleep that could constitute any form of restfulness and preparation for the day. 

  


Opening one eye against the invading sunlight, he stretched up a hand and yanked on the cord about the bed, releasing the thick curtains to enclose them in darkness once more. The return of the pitch black was a deep relief to his eyes. Being one of Mahal’s children, his eyes were almost more comfortable in dark than in light.

  


A slight tug amid his beard had his gaze traveling down and he allowed a small smile, as cloaked in exhaustion as it was, at the sights next to him.

  


Fili had finally calmed to sleep or at least a semblance of it after several hours and his tense posture was a betrayal of that. Muscles bunched and arms and legs pulled tight about his core, chin tucked. Thorin’s heart ached at the sight. He knew that posture all too well. He had taught it to the boy, many years ago, as a last line of defense. Protect those most important to you: the heart the pumped blood and the lungs that drew air if your body had failed you. The way the boy had pulled his knees up and positioned his arms...it was a protective stance, one of utter desperation.

  


“What dreams haunt your spirit, dear sister-son?” Thorin’s question was spoken with a light catch. He was used to dealing with nightmares; he and Dis had handled them in pairs when the boys were young but these were different. In their youth, all it took to calm the mind of either Fili or his brother was the reassurance that, yes, of course, Uncle would smite any demon that drew near and certainly there was no warrior that could penetrate his fighting stance or skill! (Dis has always hidden a chuckle at the latter) It had always soothed both boys without fail.

  


Such tricks no longer held power over minds that had seen battle. Fili and Kili had seen for themselves that their uncle was not invincible. They had seen his wounds spill blood and his stance falter.

  


It was then that they had both put themselves between him and his adversary, granting Thorin time and opportunity to slay Azog.

  


Amid his screaming at them, of course.

  


Bolg had fallen to Fili and Kili’s combined spirit.

  


He’d nearly lost them amid the wounds the damned orcs left behind: such deep wounds to Fili’s chest and side that Thorin would still hear a wheeze when the boy breathed and a slice so deep to the arm that it was wonder it had not severed it. Even now, the dark stitches gleamed amid the darkness, as if they were taunting the elder dwarf. They had been forced to do two sets, one with the more tender muscle and one with the skin. Such double stitching was rare and so far, it was amazing they had held.

 

Kili’s leg, the one shot in Mirkwood, had been dipped with Morgul poison and they’d nearly had to take it, even with Elvish aid. He still grew dizzy occasionally when he stood and that limp might not ever leave. Even now, Thorin would occasionally see the boy grasp it and grit his teeth. Gandalf had stated that flesh tainted by morgul’s sorcery was always painted by it. Kili’s future would never be without a slight ache in that leg at least for a time period out of the year. Most likely on the anniversary of battle, the wizard had predicted. For all the miracles that Elvish medicine could do, nothing aside from the healing of the Valar themselves could cure such ailments.

 

Yet he lived. Fili and Kili lived.

 

Broken, slightly. Worn and frightened.

  


They lived, though. Wounded, battered but they lived.

  


Thorin knew, all too well, that it was no longer frightful imaginings that crept into Fili’s mind amid the night but memories. Memories twisted with time, pain and regret to be frightful exaggerations but based in truth.

  


Truth was far harder to fight.

  


Occasionally, Thorin would stroke Fili’s hair back, nearly subconsciously. It had been that motion that finally chased fear enough to allow sleep, as fretful as it was. He still had remained tightly bunched, muscles ready but his breathing had evened enough to provide some relief to his exhausted body.

  


Then there was Kili.

  


The younger dwarf had a death grip on Thorin’s long hair and he truly hoped the lad would not suddenly startle as he had no desire to be scalped this early morn. He had given up removing the lad’s grip as he only tangled his fingers deeper. It also served as a silent soother, the King had found.

  


Both boys had awoken, several times, amid shadows in their minds but Kili would always settle faster. He would grip Thorin’s hair, so tight that it did indeed hurt despite Thorin’s strong resolve, but after rubbing it once, twice, thrice, reality would settle and he would ease back to relative quiet.

  


Fili would awaken violent. He had already delivered a punch to his uncle’s jaw that would surely darken to purple given time and such a sharp blow to Thorin’s middle that breath had escaped him. 

  


He would come back to the present only with whispered reassurance and always with horror over what he’d done. Thorin had become quite frustrated with his repeated apologies. It was hardly Fili’s fault! How could he be angry when the boy had done nothing but make him proud  and Mahal save him, had put Thorin’s own sense of bravery to shame.

 

All the same, he wanted to hear Fili cry out, to jerk awake and sob for reassurance, like Kili was more inclined to do.

  


It would be preferred to this crumbled, frightened form.

  


Very little unnerved Thorin but seeing his sister sons like this was one of the few things that did. He’d been foolish to think they would come through unscathed.

  


Or maybe just hopefully optimistic.

 

Heaving a deep breath out through his teeth, Thorin sank a little deeper into the bed. What could he say and do? Last night was just the start. There was much to be spoken about, he was certain but if he knew Fili, he also knew the boy was stubborn. He would be stubborn, wanting to appear strong, unyielding. As a dwarf was meant to be, or so he thought.

 

Thorin supposed that he only had himself to blame for that.

 

A light tug on his hair from Kili distracted him from such stormy thoughts and he shifted his sight, stroking a hand through the boy’s dark hair. “Calm, lad. You are safe. Your brother is safe. All is well.”

 

Kili didn’t open his eyes but there was a light paleness to his skin that Thorin didn’t like. Too many memories. When they had been in Laketown, prior to journeying towards Erebor. Granted, it was not as bad but it still….brought him back.

 

_“Now.”_

_The gathering of dwarves and hobbit were huddled close and Fili had not moved from his brother’s side. While Kili had protested that he was fine, the paleness and sweatiness to his flesh was more of a sign than anything. His mouth could say he was fine but the failure of his leg and the growing fever were another thing entirely._

_“Hasta be now, Thorin.” Dwalin’s eyes were focused, intent. “Ain’t gonna be long ‘fore those orcs are swarming this whole town. Surprised it’s taking them this long.”_

_“Not good.” Thorin’s voice was stiff and focused “That means they’re likely gathering reinforcements.”_

_“And I don’t think we need a lotta imagination about what they’ll do if they catch up to us before that dragon is taken care of.” Dwalin’s tone was heavy. They still didn’t have much of a plan for the dragon, except to hope the hobbit could obtain the Arkenstone and thus, they could send for reinforcements from the Iron Hills. With their aid, they could perhaps slay the blasted thing._

_Orcs coming complicated matters, especially in such large numbers. They might be able to barricade within the Mountain, away from Smaug until they came up with a method to dispatch him and deal with the orcs._

_It wasn’t a good plan but it was better than no plan and here, they’d do nothing but get innocents slaughtered. Dwarves thrived in rock. Surrounded by water as they were made them all uneasy. They knew how to utilize water for power, to make their mining easier, to power their forges but in a battle, it would only make matter worse._

_They had no time to make better plans._

_“Right. Gather yourselves. We move out now.” The authority in Thorin’s voice left no room for arguments and the dwarves rushed to gather the weapons that the Master and Bard had given them. It seemed that being found out by the Master might have proven in their favor though they had little time to act with it. Not that Thorin trusted that man, not in the slightest._

_“Uncle.”_

_Fili’s voice trembled when he spoke out and Thorin shifted to meet his eldest nephew’s eyes. “Uncle, what about Kili? We need to move quick and he’s in no condition to—“_

_“Mahal’s Anvil, Fili, I’m fine.” Kili spoke out in protest, only to hiss through his teeth and clutch at his leg at the movement. “H-honest. It hurts like orc spit but I’ll be fine.”_

_Thorin’s heart lurched and he rushed to Kili’s side, pushing him back down “No, sit.”_

_“But—“_

_“Mahal, will you listen to me, stubborn boy?”Thorin hissed and Bilbo, still in the background, silent as always, was astounded by the harshness of the word. Surely, Thorin was not going to—_

_“I won’t stay here.” Kili snapped, as if he read Bilbo’s mind. “I won’t. That’s our home. The home you always told us about and—“_

_“I won’t let you leave Kili behind!” Fili scowled at his uncle, taking in the fumbled brow and barely contained hiss that always told when their paternal figure was deep in thought. “You cannot, Uncle! YOU told us those stories, all these years. It is our right as much as yours, you cannot take it away from him!”_

_“ **I** **hbir**!”Thorin’s command was sharp and sudden and in Khuzdul. That in itself was enough to stall any talking because Bilbo was still present, there were still menfolk roaming about outside and within range to catch the hints of it. To speak their secret language out in the open… “ **Biraihbir** ,” Thorin said with a softer tone, looking from one to the other. “I have no intention on leaving Kili nor you behind.”_

_Relief flooded two pairs of eyes and the King leaned close. “But we must move swift and we must move silent.”_

_Fili immediately spoke out, “I’ll carry him, Uncle…”_

_“No.” Thorin shook his head. “The journey to Erebor is still long, sister-son and you will serve us better by manning the supplies that your brother cannot burden.” He added, hand on his shoulder “Gather the supplies for your brother and yourself and meet up with Dwalin. We, BOTH of us, will catch up with you shortly.” He leaned forward, laid his forehead to Fili’s. “You have my word, sister-son.” His eyes were heavy but full of purpose._

_Reluctantly, Fili parted and after a nod from Kili, he went to gather their supplies as told._

_Turning, Thorin seemed to finally notice Bilbo. “Bilbo, send Oin my way, if you would.”_

_Kili eyed his uncle, hands on his thighs. “Uncle, I can walk. I can…”_

_“Kili, you’re a smart lad. Don’t make a fool of yourself.” Thorin’s reprimand was sharp but full of reason. “You may claim you can walk but I have yet to see it. We have stone and sand and hill to climb over. We cannot risk you falling behind nor will I risk YOU.”_  
  


_Standing upright with that declaration, he ventured to the back, meeting Oin quickly and exchanging some soft words with him. Kili found he felt a bit ashamed but he could hardly argue with his uncle’s logic. The entire company was important, not just him, nor his pride. He couldn’t risk them…_

_“Here.”_

_Lifting his head at his uncle’s return, Kili accepted the small mug from him. It was half filled with a light white liquid and it smelled like a mix of fish and sulfur. All the same, he drank without protest though his tongue tried to fight him on that quite readily. He would not cause more trouble than he already had. If he hadn’t dropped the weapons then…_

_Fili turned about, for the third time, waiting nervously as the others rushed into the few boats there were. Bilbo stood by the golden haired prince’s side, looking up at him, “Fili, Thorin said he would not leave your brother. I’m sure he meant it.”_

_Normally, Fili would have agreed. The way Thorin had been looking to the mountain lately though. The distant look in his eyes. It was his Uncle and yet not his uncle but…_

_“Fili, Bilbo, move quickly.”_

_The welcomed sound of Thorin carried down from the house above as the King made his way slowly down the stairs, more slowly than normal. Fili waited, with baited breath and sure enough, his uncle slipped from the dark, a slumped Kili on his back._

_He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and hurried to prepare a place on the nearest boat._

_Thorin shifted Kili’s weight, relaxing the boy against his back, as near as he could manage. When the boy exhaled, he felt it. When he inhaled, he felt it. It was slow, as was the expected outcome of a drugged stupor but it was steady._

_The boy was no longer as light as he had once been but for Thorin, having him this close…he was safe. As long as he was this close, no harm would come to him unless it ran him through first._

_As he took his position on the boat, he gently shoved Fili to his side, clamping a firm hand on his shoulder and set himself slightly in front of the elder prince. Again, to get to Fili, an orc weapon would have to find him first._

_Or dragon fire._

_He’d gladly burn to ash for those two._

Taking a shaky breath, Thorin forced his mind to quiet. Little good it did to reflect on events past. Kili had not given into the poison (though he had still entered battle against Thorin’s wishes) and Fili had not succumbed to the weapons that had pierced his chest.

 

Though, as he looked over his young nephews, the scars had still been left on their hearts. Physical wounds were so much easier to treat, so much easier to tend. He could see if they were infected, if they were healing. He made a habit of checking both boys’ wounds, despite their assurances, so he could be certain.

 

He had no such view into their hearts.

 

Well, at least now, he knew how deep the wound went, at least for Fili. If his actions the night before were any indication, he needed to take control and action NOW. He had seen those that slipped away to the horrors of the mind and he would not allow such a thing for either of his sister-sons.

 

Closing his eyes, he looked down to his left hand and fingered the ring that sat there.

 

Gandalf had presented it to him after they had won the battle. There had been age on the wizard’s face and deep pain as he folded it into his palm. He’d not had to say anything else; Thorin knew the ring.

 

Only his father would have had it.

The fact that Gandalf had deprived the Necromancer of the last of the Dwarf rings was a small consolation. His father, according to the older wizard, had been a shadow of his former self, lost amid madness of loss, grief and torture.

 

No. He would not let such a fate come to his Fili, to his Kili.

 

So, when Kili snuggled closer and Fili finally unfurled only to wrap his arms around Thorin so tight that they cause his fingers to tingle in protest at the loss of blood flow, Thorin let them.

 

He would ignore the calls of his men for his attention.

 

He would ignore the urge to eat until his sister sons woke of their own accord.

 

He had told them he would stay.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt good to be back among the workers.

 

Fìli had to admit, the sleep last night, while fragmented, was the best he had received in a while. There was a comfort to having your family close by and while the day had started late, it was the most energy he had felt in many moons!

 

His Uncle had been reluctant to allow him or Kili back on the repair duty but the crown prince was insistent. “Uncle, last night, as horrific as it was, must have been a fluke. Lingering nightmares, nothing more! I feel fine, energetic. Please let us help! Is not Erebor our kingdom as well?”

 

There was not much to be said against that and Fili’s enthusiastic “I’m fine” was hard to resist. Even Thorin knew when to stop pressing so he had relented though only after retrieving a promise that Fìli And Kili would mind their injuries. He’d not seemed convinced at their reassurance but allowed it.

 

Fìli meant to prove his worth!

 

“Here,” he stepped beside one of the other workers and added his strength to the pulley. The piles of rock and rubble were not easily dispersed but they were making a lot of progress. The old doorways were being unraveled, the carved mosaics being revealed and a spark of Erebor’s ancient glory was struck with each drop of sweat.

 

“Pull!” The commander of the line gave his order and the line of dwarvesresponded. Used to moving stone and rock, a group of Mahal’s people could make short work of rubble. The fallen stone would be reused, pushed into works of grandeur for the kingdom, made into tools, or even utilized in weaponry or toys for the coming children. Rock was the lifeblood of dwarves and they meant to remind everyone of it.

 

“Again!”

 

Pull. Hand over hand, hair bound back, muscles tensed.

 

“Harder, lads!”

 

Fili’s muscles bunched and howled but his face smiled as the large chunk of fallen wall gradually began to move, slow at first, then upon a quivering rope, it swayed and rose. Behind it, they could make out yet another passageway. Erebor was full of them! Where did this one lead...

 

The sudden shouting and cracking snapped him out of his wonderings. The left side of the rope has given way and the large collection of debris was shifting, back and forth.

 

“Tow it in, lads! Tow her in!”

 

Feet cut into the dirt and stone, hands clasped a rope so hard that palms burned and tore. Yet it still swung.

 

“Now, lads! All you got!”

 

Pull! Pull until the muscles gave and—

 

A sharp blinding pain cut through Fili’s side, that healing wound where...

 

Pain! Pain! It wasn’t like a normal cut. This was a stab, this was a deep wound. He felt his lungs scream out in protest and almost instantly when the blade was pulled out, his chest half collapsed.

 

Breathing wasn’t supposed to be this hard! A sucking sound emerged when he inhaled and exhaling was even worse. Blood filled his throat with its nasty chemical taste, like old rust. He spat as best he could.

 

“It ends here, Son of Durin,” the voice was coarse, like metal untempered and rough, cutting with its timbre. Fili’s eyes refocused after a moment, the blinding pain being forced aside by the survival instinct running through his blood. Bolg...it was Bolg with his sharp teeth gleaming at him, hissing like putrid snake he was. “It all ends here. First you!”

 

That foot slammed against his chest, pressed against a set of lungs already struggling to work and he almost choked at the blood in his throat. Swallowed some of it, leaving a deep burn in his gut as it landed. Blood from a gash across his hairline dripped into his eyes, blending his world a hazy red.

 

The blade tip on his throat he recognized though. He held his breath, refusing to give this thing the satisfaction of knowing he made his blood run cold.

 

“First you.”

 

Look him in the eyes, he told himself. Look him in the eyes and show him defiance! Defiance to the last breath!

 

The blade was abruptly pulled away and Bolg gave an audible choke at the sharp wood against his throat. Rushing to his feet as quickly as he was able, Fìli immediately recognized that wood being used as a chokehold on the orc’s throat.

 

“Kili!”

 

Sure enough, it was his younger brother, using his bow as leverage and all but riding the orc’s back, using all his weight to pull him back.

 

Bolg gathered himself, rather quickly, and grasped hold of Kili by the hair rendering an indignant squawk from the lad before he was ripped off like a leech and slammed into the hard ice. There was an audible Klunk! when his head connected and Kili lay stunned a moment. It was just enough for Bolg to slam his foot onto his thigh—the same thigh that had been shot, Fìli realized swiftly—and Kili let out a cry of pain.

 

“So the younger one wants to go first?” The blade was out and Fìli was running and tackling the orc, all reason and strategy gone.

 

The creature was at least two feet taller than him and he moved slightly at his ambush as Fili pulled one of his knives from his tunic and slammed it as hard as he could into Bolg’s side. It went in and the black blood splattered over Fili’s face, staining his beard.

 

Bolg suddenly had Kili on his other side, digging in with his nails and slicing into the shoulder with his blade. He roared, dead fell and Fill shouted out as the weight and impact forced the air from his one working lung. Blood erupted from his throat again as the fist of Bolg made its mark on his injured side and the damaged ribs gave.

 

“Fìli!”

 

The younger brother was jerked upward by his hair and Bolg’s hand quickly cracked ribs and clavicle as he slammed him back into the ice with enough force that Fìli winced in unison was his brother.

 

Bolg, sick and twisted thing, picked up Kili’s fallen blade and heaved it high.

 

“KILI!”

 

“Fìli!”

 

The blond haired prince fell short when his limbs refused to move. He screamed, howled, cursed Bolg in every foul term he knew.

 

Kili looked at him. “Fìli, it’s okay.”

 

No, no, it was not okay! It was not! He struggled again and he could not rise. Could not run. Hands dig into the hot ice.

 

Hot? Hot ice?

 

And crumbling. Loose. Like dirt.

 

Dirt.

 

He looked down. Dug his hands in again.

 

Loose. Soil. Rocks, little pebbles, not ice.

 

Fìli blinked, once then twice and looked up.

 

Ravenhill was gone. Bolg was gone. He was here, in Erebor. The main halls with the fallen stone and debris and...

 

Kili WAS in front of him, knelt, shaking, hands on Fili’s face. “ _Nadad_.” He whimpered out in trembling Khuzdul. “It-it’s okay. We’re here. Battle’s over. We won, ‘member?”

 

Blinking again, Fìli looked up around.

 

Several dwarves were gathered around them. His sword was lying clattered on the ground as were several of his knives. He saw several cuts on the surrounding group, some holding bleeding arms and there was broken stone, wooden frames and...

 

“Are you with us, laddie?”

 

Abruptly, Fìli turned, eyes settling on the concerned face of Dori who had him in a tight hold. That was why he suddenly had been unable to move and...

 

“Di-did I do this?” He glanced around the room. “It-it wasn’t here. It was Ravenhill and...”

 

Understanding bled out of the eyes of several of the dwarves, the warriors of Dáin but he didn’t have much time to focus on it because a rumbling voice called out.

 

“What’s happening here?!”

 

_Uncle_

 

The King Under the Mountain came plowing through the group, Dwalin and a frantic Ori trailing. Ori looked like had just run the whole of the mountain, panting and shaking.

 

Kili locked eyes with Thorin “ _Irak’Adad_!” He called in a pitiful, lost voice.

 

Thorin paused, took in the scene: the broken wood and rock, the bleeding warriors, the fallen weapons of Filí.

 

And Fìli—white as snow, covered in sweat and shaking as if he had seen a ghost.

 

A nod to Dori and the dwarf released the young Prince.

 

As if lit by fire, Fìli rushed his uncle, flung his arms right around him. “I’m not fine, I’m not fine.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Nadad: Brother  
> Irak’Adad: Uncle, lit. Side Father


	4. Chapter 4

“So I haven’t lost my mind?”

 

Shaking his head, Thorin took a seat in front of his nephew and gently grasped his hands, “No, Fili. You are not mad, I promise you.” It was hard, seeing his normally strong and confident nephew this way: slumped, shaking, hair framing and hiding his face. Subconsciously, Thorin parted the golden curtain of mane and lay one hand on that trembling cheek. “I swear it to you.”

 

“But...I couldn’t...it was like Erebor was gone and it was Ravenhill all over again. I could see it! Everything else was gone! I could see it!” He was well aware how hysterical he must have sounded but what else could he be? He had completely lost sight of who he was, where he was, what was going on. What else could he possibly think?! That...that feeling of no control...he shuddered at mere memory.

 

Lifting the cup from the tray between them, Thorin pressed it into his nephew’s hands. “Drink, Fili And we’ll talk.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“A tea Bilbo put together for you. It will calm your nerves.” He offered “You know as well as I do that if we attempt to discuss and ponder while our minds and hearts are electrified then little gets done.” A slow smile spread across his face, “As I recall, you and your brother were quick to remind me of that in my rough spots.”

 

Peering into the tea glass, Fili was abundantly grateful for the warm fire and the quietness. Just him and his uncle, away from all the stares and noise. He eyed the swirling liquid with eyes narrowed in focus but he lifted it to his lips and drank. It was a bitter taste, without the comfort of honey or sugar but there was a distinct scent and feel to it that soothes his rattled senses.

 

He drained it, set it down and after a moment more, asked “You know what’s wrong with me, Uncle?” He added when his elder paused and took a breath “Is it the same thing you have? When you would get that dark and faraway look in your eyes when Kili and I asked?”

 

Thorin took a moment then clarified “In a way, yes.” He leveled Fili with a stern but caring look. “Warrior’s Heart. I should have taken precautions, I should have pulled you two aside as soon as you could sit up again...” Shaking his head, he sighed “Naught to be done about it now but we have time. I...I went through much Fili but I sealed it inside, I would not reach out to others.”

 

“But you didn’t freak out like I did Uncle!” Fili protested. “You’d get angry or sad but—“

 

Raising a hand to still the questions, Thorin corrected. “I used to. And some with Warrior’s Heart do not drift back to the moment. I have seen your brother have his nightmares, his shortness of tolerance, his jumpiness and clinginess. It is different than yours, different than mine just as war and horror leaves its own unique scars.” He leaned forward but kept their eyes locked. “But you may ask your mother when she arrives and she will tell you it’s true. My mind used to drift often. I had a few moments where I would re-enter a burning Erebor or once more witness Grandfather’s death or Frerin’s fall. Just as something triggered your drift today, something would trigger mine.”

 

Fili eyed him “But...why don’t you drift anymore? Will it stop?”

 

“Aye but not on its own.” Thorin sighed “I did not start addressing mine until after you were born. I did not wish to burden anyone with my troubles but in the process, I worsened it for myself. Just as a sword dipped in hot oil will harden, simmering in my own anger, fear, frustration, sadness...I tempered my Warrior Heart and it hardened.” He looked so lost suddenly. “I have learned to control the pain, to use it to fuel me but it shan’t ever stop entirely.”

 

He lifted his head and took gentle hold of his eldest’s hair, stroking it softly as he soothed the fear in those bright blue eyes. “But not you, my Fili. You are young and your pain is fresh. We can heal it and we have time to heal it fully, if we act now. Your pain has not tempered it yet. Your Warrior Heart is still soft, malleable, fixable. It is untempered.”

 

Biting his lip, Fili asked “But what about Kili? You said he also...”

 

Thorin knew this trick; Fili always diverted to others’ needs. He had a sneaky suspicion that he had learned it from his Uncle. Admirable but no good here, not with this.

 

“I will speak with Kili as well.” The King promised. “You two have always been a strong support for one another. It may serve you well now as it has before.” He deepened his gentle caress of the boy’s hair. “But my focus is on you, right now. It is not an easy task, Beardling. It is hard, painful. Like bleeding an infected wound.”

 

“But we can make...these visions...stop?” He sounded so young,so vulnerable. Like he was a little dwarfling again, pleading for Uncle Thorin to please make the orcs hiding outside the door go away.

 

Thorin was divided. He had not lied. He would not lie. Far as he knew and suspected, Fili’s condition was a curable one. He knew though...there was a chance, regardless of how early they caught it, if it was a wound that bled deeper, then it may not go away but...

 

No. Fili was young, Fili was brave, honorable.

 

His Fili was GOOD.

 

Mahal would not...could not have...

 

Mouth firmly set, Thorin nodded. “We will make this better, targ mim.”

 

Eyes still haunted, Fili asked softly, “Uncle...how did your...visions...stop?”

 

Thorin knew the question was coming but he dreaded it all the same. He paused, gently drew away and stood, pacing a bit. Fili, his patient Fili, stayed quiet and still—waiting.

 

“The visions moved to my dreams. I tried for so long to press on, to ignore the smells, the sights, the sounds that would always bring me back to the moment.” He turned and faced his nephew. “Until one day, when I was watching you and your mother was away with your father and a sound, the sound of a distant warg pack, took me right back to that battle, the carnage laid before us at Moria.”

 

Fili didn’t remember this but it sounded as if he had been very young. So, he listened without interrupting.

 

“I know not how long it lasted.” Thorin admitted. “Time is not itself when our minds drift to the past.”

 

Fili nodded. His outburst at the work site was proof of that. It had felt to be hours but he doubted if ten minutes had passed in total.

 

“I just remember that finally, it was a shrill cry that pulled me from the torture of my own mind.” Thorin returned to his seat across from Fili. “It took a moment but I finally realized it was you crying. Seeking out my aid in the only way you knew how.” While they did not fall, the elder dwarf’s eyes were wet.

 

Fili nodded, but said nothing else.

 

“You had lodged your arm amid a crack in the stone. Playing, exploring as all dwarflings do. But I had been slow to respond.” Thorin looked pained, sick even. “A horrible blue and black your arm had turned already. Oin said it was sheer luck you did not lose it.” Gently tilting his head forward, Thorin brushed his nephew’s head with his own. “I knew then...I could lie to myself no longer. Perhaps I would not be able to erase the past but I would...must...take command of my present.” He let his eyes, so full of pain and shame, color and warm. “I still had a sister and her sons. For them, I must. I did.”

 

“And the visions stopped?” Fili’s plea was soft.

 

“Not right away. I learned. Learned what brought them on. Learned what to do if I saw one coming. Learned to look at myself, my own heart. And to surrender that which I could not control. It was the hardest, most violating examination I ever did for myself.” He smiled. “I feel I will never fully escape its grasp Fili. Too deep without healing for me. I let it scar too long. But I see it coming now. I can prepare. I can plan. But you and your brother...” He laid a hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder. “Your pain has not tempered your heart, your mind. And I’ve no mind to let it. But...you need to be with me. Honest. Full and sharp, no matter the emotions.”

 

Swallowing hard, Fili nodded.

 

“Can you do that, my lad?”

 

Nodding again, Fili said “If you’re with me.”

 

“Always, my Fili. Always.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word “Warrior Heart” is based off a word for PTSD in the 1800s—Soldier’s Heart
> 
> What is described here as tempered and untempered are two separate but related conditions: PTSD and ASD. We used to call them chronic and acute PTSD. 
> 
> Basically, PTSD is something that must always be treated though like Thorin’s, it can be controlled and go into what we call remission where symptoms no longer drastically intervene in your life. ASD or Acute Stress Disorder has a lot of the same symptoms with one key difference: after a month’s time or thereabouts, the symptoms can go away permanently. Early treatment is the best defense
> 
> Khuzdul Translations:  
> Targ mim—Little Beard/Beardling


	5. Chapter 5

“More?”

 

Kili shook his head but gave Bilbo a smile with gratitude at the extended tea kettle. He had a feeling that his smile was far from convincing. It was odd for him, usually a bright smile was a simple task but not so much lately. Much as he tried, he knew it was full of shaky nerves but the Hobbit just offered a plate of small pastries.

 

“I can’t do much,” Bilbo confessed. “Bombur hasn’t got much of the kitchen up to par yet but a true Hobbit only needs a portion of a kitchen to make a good pastry or crumpet!”

 

The younger dwarf prince hardly had much appetite but it would be rude and so insulting to turn down an offer of food! So, selecting the smallest one available, he relished the sweet cherry taste. “Thanks, Bilbo.”

 

The hobbit sat himself down, eyeing the boy. “How are you doing, Kili?”

 

“Me?” It was impossible not to hear the worry, as horribly covered by nonchalant attitude as Kili attempted. It vibrated in his voice, fierce as fire. The slight heightened pitch was just more convincing that Bilbo’s instincts were correct. “You don’t need to worry about me, Bilbo. Worry about Fili.”

 

“I do worry for Fili,” Bilbo admitted. “But I will worry for you as well. Both of you are just like your uncle—in more ways than one.” He reached out, gently touched the boy’s hand but pulled back when Kili jerked involuntarily at the contact. “I want to help you.”

 

Kili shook his head. “Nothing to help, Bilbo. Fili needs help right now...”

 

“And so do you.” The Hobbit argued. “Both of you are as stubborn as teenaged mule, I swear. Your uncle is going to talk to Fili and I’m sure he’ll have a plan to help him but I also know you need a little help too. You hide it by worrying about your brother.”

 

The dark haired prince eyed the Hobbit. “Fili needs more attention than me. I mean, yeah, I have dreams and I feel...odd sometimes but not like Fili.”

 

Scoffing, Bilbo folded his arms over his chest. “By that logic, I should ignore a broken arm on you because your brother has two.”

 

Shrugging, Kili nursed his cup. He was glad Bilbo had not insisted on refilling it. The little that was left tasted bitter and sharp in his throat. “Maybe you should,” he offered.

 

Bilbo set his cup down and despite his smaller size, he looked damn intimidating. Face drawn into a deep scowl, eyes narrowed and fists clinched, the smallest of their Company set the youngest Prince with a piercing stare. It made Kili feel quite small if he was going to be frank.

 

“Kili...” Bilbo paused, just a moment, and cursed that he did not know a means to garner attention and seriousness among dwarves as he knew among Hobbits. Had Kili been a Hobbit boy, he would have added the family name but he didn’t know if dwarves had one. Thorin had his earned moniker and Fili and Kili seemed to have earned one but that didn’t help him out here. He huffed in frustration and finally settled on “Kili, sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield, listen to me and listen good!”

 

The dark haired dwarf blinked at him, surprised and that surprise only grew when Bilbo opted to push aside their cups and plates and stalk across the top of the table with a ferocity that would have made his Tookish ancestors proud. Bilbo could practically hear his father groaning and his mother cheering.

 

He had not intended to act such. He was a respectable Baggins after all. But, if he was going to get through this stubborn dwarf’s head (and Yavanna knew that with Thorin’s blood in him, it would be a task) he needed to look authoritative, stern.

 

Hard to do that when you were looking up at someone. Only his grandmother had accomplished that and she’d not parted with her secrets to anyone. So, Bilbo made a note to properly clean as recompense and stared down at the seated Prince.

 

“Are you listening to me now?”

 

A little too bewildered to give much of another answer, Kili nodded.

 

“Good. Yes, Fili is hurting right now. He’s been hurt and we need to help him. But I also see the way you react, Kili. The way you hesitate if you’re closed in. The way you jump at the smallest sound, the way you snap more than you used to. I may have only known you a few months but that is time enough to realize when something is off. But you throw yourself full force on your brother. You put him first, just like he tries to put you first.” Folding his arms, Bilbo surmised “And Fili would be putting you first now and you know it. That’s why you haven’t talked about how you are hardly fine yourself!”

 

Caught, Kili argued, “Okay so...so maybe I’ve got my issues too but Fili’s is worse! We need to focus on him!” On that, his ferocity was not hidden and it flowed from his whole body.

 

“Focus on you both!” Bilbo’s retort was just as fierce. “If we focus just on Fili and don’t try to help you then what do you think is going to happen?”

 

“Fili gets better!”

 

“And you don’t!” Bilbo spat, frustration nearly boiling over “Then, Fili worries about you and if he worries and frets over you, HE can’t heal. So NO ONE benefits from you being so stubborn!”

 

Kili locked eyes with the Hobbit, “Uncle is helping Fili. I won’t add more to his plate.” That bit was the truth. “I haven’t been trying to deal with my own stuff. I’ll...do it myself.”

 

Huffing, Bilbo sat, cross legged on the tabletop. “Kili.” His voice went soft. “You and Fìli grew up with Thorin, didn’t you?” Much as he wanted to howl, he had made his point that he would be heard. Kili was being quite responsive so it was only proper to reward it.

 

Lifting his head, letting some of his hairs drape into his face, the youngest Prince of Erebor studied the hobbit currently taking up space on the table as though it were a seat. But, eye to eye, he was hard to refuse. “Uncle was always close by but after Da died, he made it a point to always be there. Fili remembers Da some but Thorin was always Da to me. Fili too after a while.”

 

Nodding, Bilbo asked “Much as the others might tease, Kili, I see the wisdom in rearing you that Thorin impacted. His sense of honor, bravery, justice, it bleeds out of you and your brother.”

 

Face slightly flushed at the wording of ‘bleeds out’ Kili nevertheless gave a genuine look of gratitude, smile wide and eyes warm. “You could not give me greater praise, Bilbo.”

 

The hobbit inquired, “He’s made mistakes, your uncle but never with malice. Even when lost in the Gold Sickness, I knew he was still good, still Thorin.” Bilbo paused, deliberately, as he saw the memory of the dragon cursed gold and the Arkenstone’s influence over Thorin take root in Kili’s eyes. Frightened, wide and so vulnerable. Cruel as it made him feel, Bilbo was glad to see it. “That must have been so hard for you and your brother. To see him...like that.”

 

“He’s never turned...never acted like that before. He wouldn’t listen to me, to Fili. Not even as Smaug was hoarding us through the halls. And when Fili fell and he was still fixated on the stone...” Kili gritted his eyes shut. “I couldn’t help him. We couldn’t help him. When he came back...back to himself...” Kili gave a shaky exhale. “I never thought I’d see “Uncle” again.”

 

Bilbo nodded “Yet there he was, torn free of the spell.”

 

“He was.”

 

Swallowing, Bilbo reached out again, gently caressed the boy’s hands and this time, Kili let him. “It is a horrible feeling...not being able to help those you love.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Kili kept silent.

 

“My parents grew ill during the Fell Winter in the Shire.” Bilbo took a deep breath himself. It still haunted his dreams sometimes. “So little food and they were going to make sure I got as much as they could spare. But seeing them writhe from hunger, break out in fever...it does not easily leave your mind.”

 

Kili nodded. He hadn’t heard this from Bilbo before, this level of seriousness and it claimed his attention. When Bilbo met him with those deep eyes, he agreed “N-no Mister Boggins. It doesn’t.”

 

“So tell me, do you think your uncle loves you any less than you love him?”

 

Shaking his head, Kili affirmed, “Uncle isn’t always good at showing it but I know he loves us. Always has.” He smiled “Dwarf families love deep and Ma always said that was doubly true for Durin’s line.”

 

Smiling, Bilbo gave a pat to the boy’s hand. “If his behavior throughout the journey was any indication, your mother is quite wise.”

 

“Always has been..,”

 

“So tell me Kili...if your brother has shown how deeply he is hurting, won’t your Uncle naturally inquire about you?” Bilbo raised one brow.

 

“He will...”

 

“And,” Bilbo interrupted “Will he not know something deeper is going on, despite what you tell him?”

 

“Probably in his own way but—“

 

“So,” Bilbo pressed on. “That horrible pain, that urge to do something...anything...because one you love needs help and it is not in your power to do so...you’ll lay that on your Uncle?”

 

Kili jerked, lightly, as if struck. “...what?”

 

“If you refuse the help, no matter the circumstances, your Uncle will feel that emotional pain, won’t he?” Bilbo asked again. “Because he loves you. And you won’t let him help you.”

 

Eyes drifting down, Kili’s thoughts drifted. That feeling...when Thorin wasentranced and scarcely even recognized him and for all his cries to fall on deaf ears...no wound he’d received in battle could compare. To have to watch him spiral into madness and there was nothing he could do to catch him out if it....

 

He would not wish such a fate to Morgoth himself.

 

Shaking a bit in the hands and voice alike, Kili nodded. “Le..let’s go talk to Fili and Uncle.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Fili had struck a vow with his uncle. He would listen, he would try, he would fight and not let this anxiousness eat him alive. He had meant it, he had meant every word of it and he wanted ANYTHING to make this feeling cease.

 

The fidgetiness, the constant pounding of his heart, the way his mind would not stop racing and the horrific crawling out of his skin feeling.It had dulled somewhat during his time speaking with Thorin but it had not gone away. Uncle told him that if they wanted it to go away, it would be an uphill battle. Fine, so be it!

 

Before they’d had a chance to go into it, Bilbo had shown up at the door, Kili in tow. They hadn’t said much, a mere glance of the eyes and then his little brother rushing to his side, near collapsing into a side embrace.

 

“Are you alright, Fili?” 

 

Golden hair dropping into his eyes, Fili managed a smile nonetheless and clasped a hand to his younger brother’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Kili.”

 

Instead of comforting, it appeared to do the opposite as Kili’s face darkened. “You’re not. Neither am I. Can you tell me the truth at least? It’s me, you know.”

 

The elder of the two princes managed a low chuckle and remarked “I never was good at lying to you.”

 

“You’re not good at lying, period.” Kili corrected with an indignant huff.

 

Fili eyed him, criticism dripping from his eyes. “Nor are you, little brother.”

 

Caught, the younger sighed in defeat. “Ma always said none of Durin’s Line is.”

 

Allowing a smirk, Fili nodded “Aye, remember when Uncle would come home all worn to the bone and insisted he was fine? Ma would have none of it!”

 

The two Princes went quiet, each looking at the other. Those nights were forever worn in their memory. They happened more often than a Thorin liked to recall—him coming in late, covered in sweat and soot, fingers swollen with burns and callouses but he would always come with a satchel of food, or ale or maybe even a small toy when the boys were young. He always insisted “Fine, I’m fine” until Dis would erupt in his face like a demon of the deep earth.

 

“You two are more like me than is healthy and I apologize for that.”

 

Thorin’s rich baritone turned their attention away from each other as he approached, sat and Bilbo trotted up behind, offering a small plate of tarts to Fili as penance. Much as Kili had done in the kitchen, he accepted more out of politeness than anything else and Bilbo did not press. He withdrew and stayed silent as Thorin set his eyes on each of his sister-sons in turn.

 

“We’re proud to be like you,” Fili shattered the silence and his voice was firm. “I’ve wanted to be like you all my life.”

 

Kili nodded “We both have. Always came up wanting but-“

 

“No.” Thorin interrupted and laid a hand on Kili’s left and Fili’s right shoulder. “If anything, you’ve put me to shame but you’ve also acquired some of my worst habits.” He shook his head with a slight snort, “Though I’ve only myself to blame for that. But here you are—both of you—brave enough to come for help, ask for help, something I can claim so easily.” He set his eyes on Kili’s. “Bilbo tells me you’ve come with similar pains to your brother.”

 

Nodding, Kili felt inclined to add, “Not the same but...yes. I want to help Fili but I think I...no,” he amended, at Bilbo’s hidden look and shook his head firmly, “No, I  know I need help myself.”

 

Fili rested a hand on his brother’s hair “And I’ll help you through it, little brother. If you’ll let me.”

 

Setting his sibling with an incredulous look, Kili countered “If you let US help you.”

 

Chuckling, Thorin advised, “It is going to be a rough road, my lads. The wounds on the heart don’t heal easily. They fester and bleed and bruise.” The slight fear that sprung up in the two pairs of eyes fixated on him hurt his heart. “But they can heal. I should have...” Sighing, he amended his declaration. He was sure he would be cursing himself for a long while but the boys need not hear it. No point in dwelling on the undone. “No matter. We know now. I know now. So we will conquer it.”

 

Fili did not release his grip on his sibling and asked “How Uncle? How do I do this?” He shifted to meet Kili’s face. “How do WE do this?”

 

Thorin responded soft, an odd thing to hear from his lips. They had heard it more often than most but still, it was not a common tone. When he reached out and gently took their hands in his, rough warworn meeting young and naive, it was enough to melt any words away.

 

“We are made to be hardy, strong, to endure. But, when we falter, Mahal designed us to retemper.” Taking a breath, Thorin elaborated “The panic of the Warrior Heart is brought by Morgoth. As he sought to corrupt all things that Sulladad created, thus his corrupting spirit seeks and permeates all wars, all bloodshed.”

 

Bilbo, though he remained patient and silent, lifted his head slightly at this. He had never heard such an explanation but found it made sense to him and judging by the way the two other dwarves focused so intently on their elder, it made sense to them too.

 

“But Sulladad is wise,” Tucking a loose hair from Fili’s back behind the boy’s ear and stroking a loose braid on Kili’s left side, Thorin’s tone softened. “He gave Mahal wisdom, knowledge to make us not only strong and capable of enduring but able to cast out the impurity of Morgoth from the very stone he forged our ancestors from.” Gently, Thorin knelt and pulled his two nephews down with him to sit on the stone floor. He covered Fili’s hand with one of his own and Kili’s with the other and gently pressed them to the ground. “When Morgoth’s presence confuses the senses and distorts the memory, we return to our roots and we feel with our roots, trust our roots.” Advising with a stronger tone, Thorin nodded to each in turn, “Close your eyes, my sister sons and feel only the stone beneath your palms.”

 

First Fili then Kili obeyed.

 

“Good. Feel that and feel it with all your self. Its strength, its temperature, its composition and let that simple complexity bring you back to yourselves. One with stone, now and always.” That had been the phrase Thorin had been told, years ago when he first sought to gain his own control back and it never left him. Now, he could only hope it would serve his sister sons just as well. 

 

The boys were quiet, silent and still. Moreso than Bilbo had ever seen them and moreso than he thought he would ever see them. 

 

But still they were, hands pressed to the ground with Thorin’s hands never leaving theirs. Was it like a Hobbit with the earth he wondered? A peacefulness and belongingness that nothing else could touch.

 

After some time, first Kili and Fili opened their eyes. The pain had not left but there was a centeredness to it. The brightness of Fili’s eyes had returned and while the slight panic of his breathing remained, it had slowed. Kili’s intensity, the sharpness to his face had softened.

 

Thorin tightened his grip and gave a nod of approval.

 

The two boys closed their eyes again, refocused, recentered. 

 

“One with stone, now and always.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin’s method is something we call “grounding” Focusing only on what you take in with your senses to remain in the present. It’s the first skill we teach people recovering from trauma.


	7. Chapter 7

Sweat.

 

Heat.

 

Fire.

 

Good.

 

Thorin brought the hammer down again and the clang against the metal vibrated through his bones and up to his ears. It was a familiar and welcoming sensation. To lose one’s self in the Maker’s craft had never failed him before and it would not fail him now. There were plenty of tools and bearings that needed crafting.  Lose yourself in that .

 

“You planning on working yourself to death?”

 

Without pausing or allowing a second glance, Thorin fired back, in between his hammer swings, “You always told me it would likely be my end one day.”

 

Crossing over, Dwalin lifted a piece of ore, considered it then picked up another, pushing it into the fire. Eyes watching for that familiar sunset color, he asked.

 

“Session with the lads not go so well?”

 

Hissing out through his teeth, Thorin countered, “Better than I thought, less than I hoped.” A sweaty hair draped into his face and he pushed it aside like it had offended him, setting Dwalin with a dangerous look.

 

His old friend shrugged “You knew it was gonna take time, Thorin.”

 

Hammer down, metal gave, he readjusted his grip, “Aye, I know. But to...they aren’t supposed to have that look in their eyes.” A haunted, broken, frightened look. “They should never have that look in their eyes.”

 

His own sight still on the fire, Dwalin wrung his hands, cracking his wrists a moment “Should nots aren’t the kind of world we have.” He shifted, grabbed his friend’s shoulder, stopping another downward strike. “What happened, Thorin?”

 

With anyone else, Thorin would have likely said it was not their business and that he would let them know if it became their business. Dwalin and Balin has always been different. 

 

When he and Dis would struggle with two very rambunctious lads, he could always call on them. Later, the others of his Company but those two...as far back as when he had been a Prince in Erebor, they would always respond. 

 

So he stood up right, laid down his hammer and placed one hand over his eyes. “They shut down.”

 

_“Then, we split and—“_

_The room went quiet and Fili’s voice went hard, hands bunched tight. “Not important.”_

_Thorin sighed and reached out, taking hold of his nephew’s hands. “Fili. I know digging up the battle is not—“_

_“That doesn’t bother me, Uncle.” His retort was fast, sharp. “But I see no point in delving into events that have no consequence.”_

_A knowing glance in his eyes, Thorin countered “Often, there is more consequence than we can see, lad.”_

_“Not this one.”_

_Sitting back and releasing his grip on Fili’s hand, he addressed him, a sternness but not harshness to his tone. “Fili. The wounds of war are not easy wounds to mend. They cannot just be swept over.”_

_“I’m not sweeping over them.” Fili insisted again and there was a bite to his tongue. “There’s no need to talk about us killing...” A pause and there was an exchange, almost silent understanding between Fili and Kili though the younger stayed quiet. The pause, though mild and short, was felt. “There’s no need to talk about—-we need to talk about the battle itself. I agreed to work with you Uncle . Mahal knows I want this pain to go away but we’re wasting time.”_

_The determination in Fili’s face both made Thorin proud and exasperated. Much as he felt tempted to blame his sister’s genes, he knew full well that the stubbornness he saw now was all his own doing._

_“Fili. Why do you think the wounds of war rise up like they do? In dreams, in your loss of reality? In Kili’s sharpness and loss of interest? Because they are infecting the mind. To clear them out, you have to bear them—-“_

_“Uncle!” It was Kili that shouted out in protest. “Stop it! Stop it! Fili says there’s nothing worth discussing because there’s nothing worth discussing!”_

_“Kili—“_

_He saw it right away—the heaving chest, the wildness of the eyes, the tension of the muscles and the raw rage he never truly saw out of his youngest._

_It exploded._

_“THERE’S NOTHING!”_

_Thorin could count on one hand the number of times that Kíli (or Filí for that matter) had raised their voices to him. It was more a sense of respect than anything but there was also the matter that for all the trauma in their family’s past, yelling had never been found very effective. They all learned to tune it out._

_But Kíli was yelling now._

_“Just stop, Uncle! Fili’s right. The battle is what we need to worry about! This...we’ve said it’s nothing because it’s nothing! You don’t listen! You don’t listen! Maybe you’re WRONG! WE know OURSELVES! YOU were always too obsessed with EREBOR! EVEN WITH IT BACK, you’re STILL NOT LISTENING! If you’re going to waste our time, I’ll handle this myself!” That said, heel turned into stone and the youngest of his sister sons let the door swing in the air behind his huffy exit. “I don’t NEED you!”_

_Sighing heavily, Thorin rubbed his temples. He knew the rage of Warrior Heart. He was certain that he had unleashed his own burning fury on his family before, though never with intent. All the same, hearing raw anger formed into hurtful words always stung._

_When Fili stood as well, Thorin rose. “Fili—“_

_“No more.” Fili spat, “No more, Thorin.”_

_The distinct change from his familiar personal title to his name stung like the boy had punched him._

_But he resisted, nodded and let him go after his brother._

 

“Sounds about right,” Dwalin remarked, leaning on the anvil. “You weren’t exactly easy when you first started and yours weren’t as bloody fresh.”

 

“How am I supposed to help them if they won’t let me help them?!” Thorin slammed the hammer down and let it rest on the anvil, ignoring the painful vibrations. “They hide behind anger and denial. I cannot say I blame them but I know what it will do. I’m living proof of what it will do!” 

 

Dwalin laid a hand to his shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do with the boys, Thorin. You know them best. Maybe they need time, a break.”

 

Sighing, Thorin withdrew, casting his gloves down. “Rest...aye, maybe so but I must have their trust, their belief and right now, whether by the poisoning of Warrior’s Heart or by other faults of my own, I don’t have it.” 

 

That was truth of it. His sister-sons needed him and he was failing them.

 

He left Dwalin with that, running his hands through his hair as he pushed out of the forge. Dwalin, bless him, did not follow. 

 

“Thorin?”

 

Turning, more than a little shocked at the appearance of a voice by his side, Thorin let his defenses drop.

 

“Bilbo. Still quite the sneaky burglar, are you?”

 

The hobbit crossed his arms. “Hardly. You dwarves are quite the noise makers while we Hobbits relish in quiet, thank you very much.” His face contorted lightly. “I hardly meant to eavesdrop but...” he trailed off. “I’m hardly an expert but I’d be glad to help you, in any way I can. Maybe some tea for thought?”

 

Maybe he didn’t have much to offer but the sentiment made more light come to the dwarf king’s heart than he had felt in days. Allowing a small smile at the loyal halfling’s offer, Thorin laid a hand on the smaller shoulder “Make mine ale and it will be my pleasure, friend.”

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“You’ve had some success, yes?”

 

Sighing heavily, Thorin did have to give an affirmation as Bilbo refilled his glass of tea and Thorin indulged another pint of mead. The Hobbit used to worry the King would get drunk with how he drank at times but dwarf constitution remained ever impressive.

 

“We have.” Thorin allowed. “The boys have learned to root themselves to the ground and I’ve observed Fili doing it. It takes time to work and the lad can be impatient but he’s doing it. I’ve not seen him drift from reality in a time.”

 

“And Kili?”

 

“He’s still snappy, angry. I’ve heard him cursing at night but Fili can normally calm him.” The older dwarf shook his head. “But this...this is binding a wound with linen without bothering to remove the blade within! The wounds still fester!”

 

Bilbo nodded. “They will not speak of the battle? Or of Smaug?”

 

Snorting in dismissal, Thorin remarked “They speak of some of it. They talk of it to a point. They think themselves clever but I learned their faces long ago. When they start to speak of Smaug, Fili’s face tightens near his mouth. Kili’s fingers begin to twitch. And both of them, in their stubbornness, insist that such a thing is useless and there is no point.” 

 

Bilbo, despite knowing he should probably not do so, nevertheless remarked “And where do you suppose they learned that?” If there was a slight bite to his voice, there was not much to be done about it and Thorin’s reaction certainly drove that factor home.

 

“Aye, aye.” Lifting his hands in surrender, Thorin admitted. “I’ve no one to blame for that but myself. Those boys have watched me all their lives and I know they’re only doing what I likely would have done.” He lifted his eyes to lay on Bilbo and the Dwarf King looked more lost than Bilbo had ever seen him. “It’s entirely different being on the other side.”

 

Bilbo could not comment on that. “Well, I can’t say one way or another on that but you know your nephews, Thorin. Why are they resisting so?”

 

“They’re afraid.” The answer was swift and sharp. “Something happened that petrified them and they fear to tell me.”

 

Bilbo eyed him. “Because you would criticize them?” Bilbo let a bit of sourness enter his voice. “Would you? Are their fears rooted in reality, Thorin?”

 

Leaning back, Thorin remarked. “It’s complicated, Bilbo.”

 

Snorting himself and arranging himself into as big a huff as he could manage, Bilbo countered. “Is it? It’s a simple question!”

 

“Would -I- ridicule them? Their Uncle ? No.” On this, Thorin was adamant. “But they have gotten it into their thick skulls that they must never show fear to the people, to the others and yes, I feel I am to blame for that.”

 

Folding his arms, Bilbo remarked “At least you can admit it. That’s something.”

 

“Aye but it doesn’t fix it.” Thorin sighed. “I taught them to hide fear from the people because it’s from the leaders that the people look to for strength. I have always tried to embody that.”

 

Taking a sip of his tea, Bilbo eyed his friend. “Do you think they are weak?”

 

“What?!” Oh, if there wasn’t a fire in Thorin’s eyes now and if Bilbo has been any less connected to how the Dwarf King operated, he might have feared for his life. Thorin certainly looked like he might have been considering such an option. “How can you ask such a thing, Bilbo? I am proud of them, so proud I might burst and their pain is nothing to feel shame of! I’ve told them such!”

 

“Have you shown them?” Bilbo asked suddenly.

 

That seemed to stop Thorin cold. “Shown them?”

 

Bilbo nodded. “Yes. Shown them. I know you’ve told them. I’d wager even the people of Dale from the eldest to the newest know how proud and special your nephews are to you.” He reached over and grasped the elder’s hand. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you dwarves and about those two in particular is that you learn by doing. By experiencing.”

 

Thorin considered the hobbit’s words and nodded. “Aye. Those two more than most. I could tell them a thousand times that the forge was hot and Fili would still insist on prattling about it, shocked when it left a dark welt on his arm. I could tell Kili that the mine was dangerous on your own but it was only after a night lost and alone that my words made sense to him. I suppose it should not surprise me that this is the same.”

 

Bilbo frowned but then smiled a little. “They’re young. I am told young dwarves are normally hardheaded but the scions of Durin’s Line remarkably so.”

 

A smile passed Thorin’s lips. “Well, you’ve not been malinformed.”

 

The room went quiet again, save for the occasional sipping of mead, tea, and the tapping of fingers to stone and wood. 

 

Setting his mug aside, Thorin rested his hands on his forehead. “So that is how the gem cuts, is it? I must show them that it is alright to be vulnerable and to be afraid.” He exhaled, as if he was pushing the weight of all of Erebor out in that breath. “So be it.”

 

Bilbo eyed him and stood as he did. “You’ve an idea.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

“Yes.”

 

Bilbo trotted after the dwarf, asking “Is there anything I can do?”

 

“Keep an eye out for those boys. I’ll speak with them tonight.” Thorin lifted his eyes skyward, as if asking for support. “You are right, my friend. Dwarves learn by doing and I’m the one that taught them to build up that wall. It’s what they saw me do all their lives.” 

 

There was nervousness, even fear in Thorin’s eyes. He walked away from Bilbo, leaving the Hobbit alone in the halls. Wisely, the small one did not follow, leaving the Dwarf King to his thoughts. This was not a simple situation and it certainly did not have a simple solution.

 

Thorin wandered the halls of Erebor, all others drowned from his mind. It hurt more than he let on to be rejected by his nephews. He knew why they did it. He had pushed away others as well, he’d said things he did not mean when his emotions were raw and fresh. And he was not 77 and 82.

 

Young. So young, both of them. Strong, brave, capable warriors—both of them. With more courage in their hearts than most dwarves would be blessed with in a lifetime. Yet, Thorin couldn’t help but still see the two lads who would dart around his legs, screaming about some unfairity that Uncle must surely fix.

 

They had always come to him when something was wrong, whether it be a quarrel amid the courtyard that was completely valid for the black eyes they delivered or that Mother was being doubly cruel for the amount of greens she was insisting they consume. 

 

He’d always been the one to teach them, to help them. Anyway he was able. He was certain it was not always correct but it was never with malice.

 

Thorin’s mind drifted. To when he had been so full of rage and tears and fright. The coldness that took his veins when Grandfather fell, when Frerin fell. He had told the story of so many a time.

 

But never about his uncertainty. His fear. His cold sweats when he awoke in the night.

 

That had been a mistake.

 

To be open on fear, on pain...it was safe to be vulnerable with family. That was the most valuable lesson he had yet to instill in them.

 

And as Bilbo said, dwarves learned by doing.

 

“So, if I am to teach them to be vulnerable with me...I must be vulnerable myself.”


	9. Chapter 9

            Deep breath in.

           

            Feel the stone. Feel the earth. Be one with the earth. Let it anchor you.

            _Imprudent dwarf, foolish scion of Durin. His stench is all over you and oh, I will relish in burning it to nameless ash!_

 

            Fili’s eyes flew open and his breath came in sharp, sudden gasps. Digging his fingers into the ground, he focused, refocused. Yes, yes, that was what he needed to do. The dryness of the earth, the slight bite when broken bits of stone pressed against his skin, the way the soil crumbled and spilled away between his fingers.

           

            No burning flames. No coarse cutting scales. No raw, unforgiving ice.

 

            Blinking once, then twice, Fili set aside his pick and slid against the wall to flop into a pile of loose bones. The crews working had more or less scattered to grab bites to eat, rest their bones or repair broken weapons and tend small injuries. Those that WERE left wisely left him be.

 

            Well, Uncle Thorin’s method certainly worked to bring him back into the moment.

 

            _But that was no excuse for…the other nagging. The other pressuring_. Fili was adamant and hardened his heart against the pain he had seen rise in his Uncle’s eyes. Never mind that he had struck a vow to keep such a look from ever clouding those eyes. Never mind that his Uncle had been trying to help them, in his own cantankerous way. Never mind that no, he did NOT have a problem with talking about Smaug, the battle and he certainly was not avoiding anything, it simply wasn’t relevant.

 

            No, it wasn’t. It simply wasn’t. There was no need to address it. That was NOT where the issue laid.

 

            **Was it? Or is it your own failure that you dare not look upon? Is it the fact that even as you dug your blade into my body that my threats truly reached you? That my voice was sharper than the worst blade? That you are, of all things, weak?**

 

            Shaking his head, Fili dug his hands into his braids. It had been a brief interaction, him and Smaug but the damned dragon’s words refused to leave him. Even now, they formed and morphed and he could HEAR that accursed worm LAUGHING at him.

           

            He knew Smaug was dead. He knew that Kili’s arrow had found its mark and he had approached, seen and felt the dead thing’s flesh himself. But, unlike his brother and the others, he had been subject to the thing’s speech. Smaug had thrown threats, insults at his Uncle, at the Company but upon his back, Fili would not forget the things that were said there until his bones were taken into the earth.

 

            Yet he could not address them. How could he? His uncle had spoken to the dragon. He had called to him, cursed him, taunted him. What right did Fili have to be afraid? What kind of future King was he if he could not face his foes without terror all but claiming his breath?

 

            **Coward. Expected of one of Durin’s Line. Arrogant, foolish, and broken kings, the all of them and you are no different. I devoured your families, your kingdoms and you think you can withstand a Worm of Morgoth?**

 

            _Dead. Dead. Dead, he’s dead, Fili_! The blond haired prince took a shaky breath in. _Dead. He’s dead. You saw it. You saw him fall. He touched him, poked that wretched flesh! These words aren’t from him! They have no power! They’d have no power even IF he was alive—which he ISN’T!_

**Am I? Are my words so powerless, little son of Durin?** That laugh. That laugh. Just as loud and deafening as it had been soaring over Laketown, hearing them cry. Hearing them scream. Women rushing to help their elderly fathers to the feigned safety of the lake but even water caught under the scorch of dragonfire. Seeing the little children turn to utter ash even as they stretched for the safety of their mother’s breast…

 

 **As you may not know, little dwarf, those of Morgoth’s brood have much power that you cannot possibly comprehend. Did Glaurung’s words not cast madness upon** **Nienor or were such tales hidden from you, dwarf child? Do you know not of the curse Glaurung delivered upon her and Túrin?** **You think my sting is any less? Especially upon a family already burdened with lunacy? Oh, Nienor’s end will seem a mercy to you! Húrin’s curse be upon your line, tenfold, be it!**

 

            Standing again, shaking even as he fought with the words that cut through his mind, Fili set his sights on the far off hall and trotted that way. He needed to take some time for himself, obviously. The dragon was dead. There was no way he was speaking to him and he did not hear the words with his ears, only within his head.

 

 The kitchen, while still need of repairs, always had something that could distract him and that ale was desperately needed right now.

 

            Drink enough of it and you couldn’t focus on anything even if you wanted to.

 

*O*O*

 

            Kili drew another arrow and cursed aloud when it missed its mark, by a good two inches.

           

            Another arrow to the string, drawn, notched, released.

 

            Missed.

 

            “ _Yi’_ ” Kili cursed in annoyance. He pulled another arrow and released again, and cursed aloud once more when it did not even connect with the target at all. “ _Abali_ ,” he cursed himself again, coached himself “ _Abali,_ Kili _, abali_.”

 

            The arrow feather cut his cheek when he released and the string twanged against his forearm. It caused a sharp, intense throbbing and it was enough to make him look down and lower his bow.

           

            He’d not tightened the arm guards. They were slipping. He cursed, again, to himself and in a state not normally observed amid the youngest of the Durin brothers, he tossed his bow to the side and tore at his arm guards as if they were poisoning and burning his arms.

 

            Damn it! Damn it all! Damn the dragon, damn the mission, damn his uncle, damn it all, all of it!

 

            That wasn’t fair, he knew. His Uncle and the others had helped win back Erebor. His uncle had been nothing but supportive, he always had—

 

            So why did he have to press? Why didn’t he stop when they asked him to? Why did he keep asking about the battle against Bolg? It didn’t matter. No one died except the orc. It didn’t matter. Why did he ask about Smaug? He’d seen it. He’d seen Fili take off on the worm’s back and he’d seen his arrow met its mark by a miracle of Mahal alone.

 

            It. Didn’t. Matter.

 

            What was done was done. The event was passed; the enemy dead and his family alive. What did it matter to go over it? He saw it often enough in the darkness of his dreams, there was no reason, no fallible reason, to comb over it with his uncle.

 

            With his strong, proud Uncle. His uncle that even amid facing their deepest foe, the murderer of Kili’s great-grandfather had never faltered. No fear, no hesitation. The Uncle that had called, cursed the Great Worm. That had laughed at it, even as the halls of Erebor had been set aglow with the deepest of fire. When they had stumbled across the bodies, long since deprived of their flesh and yet never return to stone so their spirits could reside with Mahal, Kili had thought he was going to be sick with the thoughts of those spirits lingering so long not at rest but his Uncle had not even hesitated. He had pressed on.

 

            Kili could not…would not…look at his lack of strength. If he did not peer into their past, the cowardice he had felt in his heart would remain hidden, remained pressed deep into his soul. He would not pull that in front of his uncle. He could not.

 

            Yet his uncle insisted. Why? What purpose did he have? He said he wanted to help but that was the opposite of help! Did his uncle want to show them how much they had truly failed? To rub their faces in how their acts were mere luck and happenstance?

 

            No, no, that was not his uncle. It had never been his Uncle.

 

            Was it so far-fetched though? Was he not just the second heir, the one that had never been a good student? Always gone for the less aggressive weapons? Never truly garnered the focus on political necessities that now would be commonplace?

            Shaking his head, he cursed his ever racing mind and the anger that came with it, The frustration, the desire to not think about any of this and rage at his uncle for pulling such thoughts out of his subconscious when he had been trying so hard, so hard, so hard to bury them and leave them buried.

 

            Retrieving his bow from the ground, Kili removed his arm guards entirely, throwing them into the dirt and nocked another arrow as quickly as he could. He was hardly even aiming anymore. Just something, anything, to refocus his mind, to rebury those thoughts. Those feelings, that doubt.

 

            The sharp biting when the bow’s string lashed against his forearm silenced the thoughts for a moment when the message of pain overrode everything else. It was pain every archer had experienced at least once and Kili would never forget the first time it happened and the tears that had flooded his vision. The way he had sobbed and grabbed his forearm and the low baritone of his uncle, half-comforting, half-reprimand as he eased a soft and cool paste onto the damaged limb and rubbed the welts far longer than was necessary.

 

            Yet he had failed him, failed everything he had taught him and now Thorin was trying to drag it all out again, all out again. All out again for everyone to see.

 

            Kili let another arrow fly, gritted his teeth and bathed in the temporary silence the stinging in his arm brought.

 

            Again.

 

            Again.

 

            He had a lot of arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Yi': Phrase in Khuzdul to reflect annoyance  
> Abali: Phrase in Khuzdul to mean "to focus" or "Focus"
> 
> Note--  
> This chapter mentions the story of Glaurung, Nienor and Túrin which is contained in the Silmarillion. You can also find an expanded version of it in the release "Children of Húrin" I highly recommend it if you haven't read it.


	10. Chapter 10

 

            Bilbo was not entirely certain what plans Thorin had in mind but the fact he had a plan was certainly encouraging. It seemed that their talk had done something and maybe there was an approach that the Dwarf King had not yet tried. There was little Bilbo could do on that regard. What he could do was seek out the two Princes and hope that perhaps he might get in touch with them a little bit.

 

            “I’m fine!”

 

            That was a sharp and unforgiving shout. Full of fire and had it a little more depth and rumble to it, Bilbo might have mistaken it for Thorin’s. But no, it was coming from the training yard and as he grew closer, he recognized Kili and a handful of other dwarves, though none of the Company.

           

            Kili was not happy.

            In fact, had Bilbo not known him any better, he would have sworn that the youngest heir of Durin was throwing a tantrum. While most of his shouts were in the common tongue, there were several Khuzdul phrases in there and one of the dwarves looked to the ground, grabbed a handful of dirt and murmured “ _Iltinî Mahal_ ” after one of them. No need for translation there.

 

            Hurrying over as fast as he could which was quite a feat for a small Hobbit, Bilbo stormed onto the scene and demanded with all the huff of an angry mother, “Kili, in the name of Yavanna AND Mahal together, what is it?”

 

            The young Prince shifted his eyes downward and Bilbo still wasn’t used to seeing such raw anger in them. They flashed like lightning and his voice came out spitting and cursing like a cobra. “It’s not your business, Bilbo!”

 

            That Took temper and Baggins etiquette decided it was time to work together. Slapping his hands on his hips, he set the young Prince with his best glare and declared. “I dare say it is! You and Fili had turned rather sour with your Uncle but I know these good fellas here would not intervening if they thought it was unnecessary. Therefore, it IS my business because I happen to care for the lot of you!”

 

            “What _I_ do with MY time is not their business or yours!” Kili snarled. “I’m not a wee dwarfling that needs to coddled and watched! I’m not a dwarfling that can’t tend to themselves! I’m not a dwarfling!”

 

            “Then, by Mahal’s anvil, stop acting like one!”

 

            Maybe it was hearing a Dwarf curse from a Hobbit’s lips or simply the fact that he looked like a miniature version of Dis but at that sharp tone, something appeared to click in Kili’s head. He paused, stopped his cursing and while he pulled his arms away from the nearby Dwarf, he did not jerk as he had been.

 

            Bilbo folded his arms across his chest, satisfied. “Now, see, that’s much better. I would be glad to speak with you about whatever horrific transgression these dwarves have done to you and if justice need be done, we will speak with your Uncle. However, I do require you to be calm enough to speak and maintain one language while we do it, if you please.”

 

            Shame climbed into Kili’s face and he looked around at the gathered dwarves, his face blood red. “ _Iklalalfâtakhaf_ ,” he murmured, looking from one dwarf face to another. “ _Iklalalfâtakhaf_ ”

 

            One by one, the dwarves said something to him in Dwarvish that Bilbo did not know but he could tell by tone that it was with affection and concern. They each seemed reluctant to leave but it was evident that the Hobbit had a better handle on the situation than they did. So, they murmured to themselves and left the Hobbit and Dwarf Prince alone.

 

            As promised, Bilbo walked over to a nearby collection of bags and plopped down on one. “Now, come, Kili. Speak with me.”

            Head bowed, Kili followed and slid to the ground next to him. The height of the bags put Bilbo a smidge over Kili in height and for this circumstance, it worked to his favor. “I…apologize, Mister Boggins.”

 

            Smirking, Bilbo remarked, “You’ve your Uncle’s temper, I’ll give you that.”

 

            A low half smile graced his face. “Me and Fili both do. Fili has a longer fuse than I do. Still, I shouldn’t have been so short with you. I…I am sorry.”

 

            Bilbo shook his head, “It’s no matter Kili. I am sure I will endure much more of your tongue before the winter is up and in any event, I believe I have grown a bit of a thick skin, travelling with you lot. But, if you would be so kind, what got you so riled up?”

           

            Kili blinked, seemed to be processing something for the first time. A bit like coming out of a daze, it appeared. He was suddenly reaching down and rolling up the sleeve covering his forearm on his bow arm.

 

            Bilbo cursed aloud. “Yavanna’s bounty!”

 

            Up and down the arm, so many that they overlapped, were welts. Dozens and dozens of them, bright and angry; a few had split open and were dotted in red. Most of them, but especially on the worst, had begun to blend the skin blue and black.

 

            Kili stared at them, as if he were seeing them for the first time.

 

            “Kili…what happened?”

 

            “I…” The dwarf prince trailed off and as much as Bilbo wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, he reframed. The boy just stared, hands trembling as if caught in a storm as he looked over his mangled arm. “I…it wasn’t this many…”

 

            “It shouldn’t have been ANY!” Bilbo declared, taking hold of Kili’s hand and looking over the damage. “What happened?”

 

            Biting his lower lip, Kili remarked, “J..just bow string welts. That’s all.”

 

            “No.” Bilbo frowned. “One or two is ‘that’s all.’ These…look at these, Kili. How many are there?”

           

            Kili had no intention of counting them, “Too many.” He shook his head. “I was just…” What _had_ he been doing? He’d been angry, he’d been upset, he’d wanted those horrible thoughts to go away but he had not done this on purpose, had he?

 

            Had he?

 

            No. No, that was silly. He’d become upset, angry and in a moment of stupidity, he’d thrown down his arms guards. Nothing more, nothing less. That was ALL that had happened. Nothing worse than that.

 

            The fact that it made him forget for a moment…that had been a side perk.

 

            He reported such. “I…got frustrated, tore off my arm guards and kept shooting.”

 

            Bilbo groaned and buried his face into his hands. “Ayie….the curse of youth!” He removed his hands after a moment and eyed Kili. “You’re certain that is all it was? After all, wouldn’t you have stopped after a few of these? They look horrifically painful.”

 

            “Oh, they hurt.” Kili admitted. “But I was…really upset. Thinking.”

 

            Bilbo nudged a bit closer. “About?” He lay a hand on Kili’s uninjured arm, “I am sure that there is much going on in your head but I am a fairly good listener.”

 

            No. Not going back there again. Not here. “No…nothing important.”

 

            Heaving a deep sigh, Bilbo offered, “You are your uncle’s blood, that is for certain. If you will not speak with me then—“

 

            “No.” Now there was a darkness to the tone. “I don’t need to unveil my thoughts to him. He bugs me enough about it, don’t you start too, Bilbo.”

 

            “You know he does it because he worries about you.”

 

            A slight pain cut Kili’s heart at that. He knew that and he knew he and Fili had likely been way too harsh, though sometimes you HAD to be to get through to Uncle’s thick head! They wouldn’t have to be so hard and mean if Uncle would lay off. “I know he worries and we appreciate what he’s taught us but we don’t NEED to talk about anything else.”

 

            Raising a brow, Bilbo countered. “I dare say that your forearm might disagree with that.”

 

            Standing, Kili retorted “We heal real quick, Bilbo. It’ll be fine.”

 

            The hobbit stood as well “So, I don’t need to talk to Thorin about it?”

 

            Freezing in mid step, Kili turned and his eyes were large and pelading “Don’t Bilbo. Uncle has enough to worry about. I made a stupid mistake and I just didn’t notice how bad it was. That’s _all_ it was. I promise.”

 

            Bilbo didn’t believe him. It was evident on his face. But, he also had to admit that he was not well versed in dwarf physiology. And perhaps Kili’s tear filled eyes had some effect on him though how they had come to that, he was not entirely sure. Sighing, dropping his head with a shake of his shoulders, Bilbo relented. “I trust you Kili. If you tell me  that it’s nothing then I’ll take you at your word. But…if it turns out that it’s NOT nothing…”

 

            “It _won’t_” The decisive answer was through clenched teeth.

 

            “But if it _does_...” Bilbo pressed, again.

 

            “If it DOES and it WON’T then I’ll get help for it.” Kili relented. “But it _won’t_ Mister Boggins.”

           

            Knowing when he was beat, Bilbo relented. “Like I said, I’ll take you at your word. But I would still have those looked at.”

 

            Kili didn’t smile but he did nod. “I’ve gotten used to handling these. I’ll go take care of them. Don’t _worry_, Mister Boggins.”

 

            Shaking his head, Bilbo remarked, “You sons of Durin make it very difficult to do so.”

 

            A laugh, though forced, drifted from Kili’s direction as he left the field. “That’s what Ma always says.”

           

            Once the field was left at his back, Kili glanced down at his forearm. They did look pretty nasty but they would be easy enough to treat. What _had_ happened? Had he…gone after the pain?

 

            No. No, that was ridiculous.

 

            Yet…the sharpness of the twang of the string cutting into his flesh HAD driven all thoughts of the battle, of the dragon, of the what-ifs out of his mind. It had been rather liberating, all things considered, something that made his mind quiet for the first time in weeks.

 

            It had been a perk of being distracted. Nothing more. He’d enjoyed it, perhaps, but that was NOT what he’d been doing. After all, what archer didn’t at some point cut up his arms? Especially when you were stressed and unsure and frantic, it was so easy to want to cast aside the precautions and just let your arrow be your release.

 

            The slight twinge when he moved his forearm cut through his thoughts, rendering them null for a brief moment. For just one moment, the thoughts were gone.

 

            Like when the string had struck him in the first place.

 

            It was a side effect of an accident but he found he liked it.

 

            Well, not liked-liked but…well, every archer hurt their arms from time to time and that was all this was.

 

            Clutching his wrist as he walked, Kili murmured to himself, “It was an accident. I lost my focus, I got distracted. Nothin’ else.”

 

            All the same, he flicked one of the larger welts and savored the brief peace it brought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> Iltinî Mahal: Forgiveness, Maker; asking the Vala Aule for forgiveness either for yourself or for another.   
> Iklalalfâtakhaf: Statement delivered as a means of apology after embarrassing one's self or one's family


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a long time since he’d ventured into the belly of Erebor. Thorin remembered it well enough, having gone there several times as a child. Frerin usually right on his heels and much later, Dis bringing up the rear. It was almost alien to be down here alone.

 

It was necessary though.

 

Thorin stopped before the great doors and looked upon them in reverence. The images of Durin, the Valar, Mahal and Sulladad glanced down at him and he dropped to one knee with respect for a moment. Rising to his feet when he felt enough time had passed, he passed through the large doors and walked until he found the large prayer chamber.

 

Seven fire pits, unused for a long time but still with the vents above them and the hollowed, sloped center inside the ring of fires for the dwarf seeking Mahal’s guidance. 

 

Taking a deep breath to calm and center his mind, Thorin went from pit to pit, clearing the vents, offering kindling and lighting each in turn. By the time he reached the seventh and largest one, he was soaked in sweat from both work and heat. 

 

Taking his spot amid the scoop of rock and earth, Thorin peeled off his outer layers, leaving only the undershirt and his slacks. Folding the clothes neatly, he set them aside and settled on his knees. 

 

Khuzdul was the language for this chamber, as it was for all their important ceremonies. It flowed more naturally off the tongue and it was Mahal’s first gift to his people. It only made sense to utilize it.

 

“~Maker, I humble myself before you. I know I have done wrong, I know I have committed acts that do not bring pride to your name. Perhaps I have little right to be here. But I come not for myself this day, Maker. I come for my children.~”

 

It didn’t feel wrong to call them that. As Dis had told him many times, they could not be more his if he had sired them himself. Mahal knew more than even she did. Sulladad knew all. 

 

“~I do not know what I can do for them. I know what plagues their hearts and the Enemy’s poison has sank deep. I must help them to draw it out, to heal, to become whole again. You know my heart and you know I would surrender all of Erebor and every ounce of gold that has ever passed through it if it would soothe their hearts. I ask you, Maker, and through you, All Father, grant me the strength, the patience and the time to heal the burns on their hearts.~” Thorin paused, head still bowed and the fierceness of the flames painting upon his back. “~They are...priceless to me.~”

 

That was all that could be said, all that he could ask. While he did not expect a response, he found himself sitting there for a time regardless.

 

OOO 

The sounds of the mountain had become very familiar to the Hobbit over the past few days and weeks. Not quite as familiar perhaps as the birds in the Shire but recognizable enough. There were still days he became hopelessly lost wandered about like a frantic fauntling but he felt he had rather mastered the layout of Erebor, for all necessary travel.

 

Thus, he knew it to be rare for someone to be digging about in the cellar behind the smaller of the kitchens. There had been transport of some of the wine and ale back there but the kind used more regularly was kept in front with the barrels or pantries.

 

Well, curiosity was certainly a trait of a Hobbit with Took blood! Slipping into the room, the small Shire-folk approached cautiously with small steps. Sneaking up on big folk (and yes! The dwarves were Big Folk as far as Bilbo was concerned) was their speciality and Bilbo had additional practice of approaching a dragon!

 

All the same, he didn’t quite know what such a small fellow would be able to do against a major intruder (aside from run for assistance) so he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar head of gold.

 

“Fili, my boy, you nearly stopped my heart!”

 

The dwarf in question turned abruptly, effectively startled and promptly feel against the wall in the process.

 

Now, Bilbo was not an expert on dwarves but they seemed rather spry and solid on their feet, especially the younger ones. Fili was many things but a clumsy oaf was not one of them. 

 

However, he did not normally reek of wine and ale either.

 

Hurrying to his side, Bilbo offered his support to help the young Prince stand and luckily, the lad had enough sense to listen. Even as he laid far more of his weight on Bilbo than was physically comfortable, Fili was slurring his words and dragging a bottle behind him.

 

Clearing his throat, the Hobbit advised, “I’d say, my dear boy, that you have had quite enough to drink.”

 

“Naw,” The dwarf protested and leaned his weight on the stone wall of the room. “Jussa mixi’ it up.”

 

Bilbo frowned. “Never thought I’d see a drunk dwarf. You all seem to have a ridiculous constitution.”

 

“...no’ drunk, ‘ilbo.”

 

“Fili,” the hobbit crossed his arms, similar to how he had approached Kili. “You are certainly heavily intoxicated.” He frowned. “Bit unusual before dinner is it not?”

 

“...s’fine.” The dwarf was definitely avoiding much conversation which only prompted Bilbo’s concern. Fili was many things but neither he nor his brother were shy to conversation. 

 

“Then walk without hugging the wall as if it were your bride.” 

 

Perhaps that was a bit harsh but Bilbofailed to see another method of getting the boy’s attention. As it was, the lad looked ready to stumble through Erebor’s hallways and potentially tumble right over the edge of one of the higher stairwells. He did not doubt that the stubbornness of the Durin line would insist he could scale the narrow pathways, despite his current—very accurate—impression of a sapling in a storm. 

 

Filí eyed the hobbit with eyes so glassy he looked like he might have been crying. “Don’t wanna.”

 

Groaning, Bilbo approached and it took far less strength to wereste the bottle from his hand than it should have. Looking it over, Bilbo inquired. “Elven wine? Thought you dwarves hated it.”

 

“Tastes ‘ike orc ‘iss.” Fili slurred again. “‘ix it ‘ith ale...’ood ‘uff.”

 

Bilbo set the bottle down and approached again. “If it tastes so horrendous, why drink it. As much as you dwarves are indeed talented with ale, I don’t suspect you can destroy wine that tastes that despicable no matter how much you try. So why drink it? You and your brother have very specific palates.”

 

Under normal circumstances, Fili might have answered because he was ‘that way’ or maybe even ‘to say I tried it.’ This time though, with far more alcohol than blood in his system, he opted for truth.

 

“‘Uts up the  _ uslukh _ in m’head.”

 

Bilbo blinked once then twice even as he scurried after the prince as he headed for the door. The heir of Durin was not going to fall to his death if he had anything to say of it! Perhaps, if luck was with them, they might stumble across a member of the company with more persuasive abilities than he possessed.

 

Even as he trotted alongside Fili, Bilbo’s heart sank. Much as he was respectful of the secrecy of the dwarven tongue, he was a linguist at heart and some words had naturally been repeated with his earshot multiple times. Time enough to catch their meaning. 

 

He’d been among fauntlings enough to more or less translate slurred speech. It was different from a drunken stupor but with similar skills required. 

 

He was fairly certain he knew what Fili had said and it made him gesture to the nearest dwarf they found, a simple deliverer of rock from and to the quarry, to please go and quickly find Thorin.

 

** To shut up the dragon in my head. **

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait. Busy family life but should be back on schedule now!
> 
> Khuzdul Translations
> 
> Uslukh: Dragon


End file.
